Family Tree
by Your Isis
Summary: Maren leads a quiet life in Alba, and that's the way she prefers it – until one night she is visited by the Outsider who brings a foreboding message about an upcoming chain of events. Life will never be the same. Rated M for future chapters. *UNDER REVISION*
1. Chapter 1: A Visit from the Outsider

AN: Is not my usual type of writing. However, I am incredibly excited, because I feel good about all the notes Im enjoying working on this so far! :D

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original Dishonored characters or locations. I do own Maren and her family members though, so they are required to do my evil bidding .

Icy wind blows through Maren's window, slamming the shutters and extinguishing her last candle. What was it, the fifth time this night? It's more than likely a sign that she should just give up and turn in rather than re-lighting the candle wick. She waits for her eyes to adjust to the piercing black before swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.

The floor's so, so cold as she skitters across the room to align the shutters properly and latch them tightly in place. Constant cold is something she only hears about in stories about Tyvia, not something she ever experienced growing up in Morley's northernmost city, Fraeport, or even after she moved all the way south to Alba.

Another gust of wind blasts against the door, startling her to a shriek.

"Okay, I get it!" She yelps, hurrying back into bed to draw the covers over her frozen legs. "I'll go to sleep!"

She's out like a light not even a minute later.

"Maren."

"No…"

The way she sweetly murmurs in her sleep does nothing to drive away the voice. It comes again, more insistent this time.

"Maren. Wake up."

She does then, groggy and impatient. It's not until she's wiped the blurs from her eyes that she realizes how different her room looks. The purple glow of whale oil in dozens of lanterns casts long shadows along the walls, turning her cheerful ocean-side apartment into a ghostly scene – she hasn't seen anything like a shrine to the Outsider since her mother was killed years ago.

A deep, eerie call sounds throughout the room, startling her to her feet. She reaches for the nearest thing to her, a fireplace stoker, and heads for the front door. What could possibly make that sort of noise? It echoes again, long, drawn out, and far away.

Time stops for Maren when she opens the door.

The beach from her childhood spreads out before her instead of Alba's quiet night streets. She can just make out where the water kisses the sand, but not past it. It seemingly fades off into nowhere.

Blinking and shaking her head in disbelief, she steps out onto the sand. The heated granules sift comfortably between her toes, but this is not the beach that she used to romp around on with her mother in matching striped, woven hats.

No.

She can see it now – the beach is beautiful at first, but it breaks up in the distance, fragmenting, sand spilling over the craggy, earthy edges in perpetual waterfalls with no perceivable source. The ocean doesn't stretch into the natural horizon, it dumps itself off an invisible edge into what looks like oblivion. White haze makes up everything, the sky and below, for as far as the eye can see.

It's just like her mother said it would be.

Maren's mother told her about the Outsider the day she turned seven. Her mother had been cooking the birthday dinner in the kitchen and Luke, her elder brother of five years, had been wrapping presents when Maren heard a strange sound coming from the room where her mother kept the oil lamps glowing at all hours. She pushed the door open, taking care not to make a sound, and crept curiously through the long, dimly-lit space. The noise grew louder and louder with every step she took until she had her small hands pressed against the cool marble alter her mother tended to regularly.

A strange disc was nestled amongst the papers and candles littering the space, glowing and singing something fierce. Just being near it made the hairs on every part of her small form stand on end.

She wanted – no needed – to touch it.

And she tried, but as she reached for it, a hand snatched her wrist.

"Maren," she gulped upon hearing her mother's voice. "Didn't I tell you to never come in here alone?"

"Yes…but…"

"But what, honey?" Her mother was now crouched down beside her in her favorite red dress – the flowing sleeveless one she only wore for special occasions. She'd worn it more before her father left, when there were many more things to smile about. Before he saw the ink-black mark burned into her hand.

"It's making a funny noise." Maren wrinkled her little nose, glancing at the item again.

"Yes, I know." She smoothed her hands over her daughter's wavy hair, red and bright as her own. When the curiosity remained in Maren's eyes she added, "You need to promise me you'll leave that rune alone."

"Rune?"

"That's what it's called – a rune. It needs to stay on the altar so Mommy can talk to someone important, okay?"

"Someone important? Like Daddy?"

A sigh escaped her mother's lips. "No. Not like Daddy at all."

So she told the story about the great leviathan who dwelled in the ocean's deepest places and always watched mankind with a keen eye. She explained how he would take the form of a young man with eyes as deep and dark as the Void itself to talk to humans, but he was not to be feared. He was to be respected because of his power, age, and knowledge.

In Maren's 7-year-old mind there was only one question that made sense: "Are there other sea creatures to be his friends?"

Maren's mother smiled at the question. "No, honey, I'm afraid not."

"Isn't he sad then? I'd be sad if I didn't have any."

"No, he prefers to be alone, sweetheart." She took the young girl's hand and led her out of the darkened room and toward the kitchen. "Enough of that for now. Tell me, birthday girl, do you want to open your presents first or have cake?"

"Cake! Cake!" Maren cheered, racing her mother back to the kitchen.

But the story wasn't forgotten. Every night from there on out she'd find shells on the beach and sneak into the candle room just to leave them on the altar next to the rune. At first she assumed her mother was doing something with them because they were always gone the next day, but years went by and her mother never said a word. Not a tease, not a chiding remark, nothing.

It wasn't until she was 15 that she came into her mother's studio to bring her tea that she saw the sketches, the paintings – all of the man with the short dark hair and haunting eyes. Her mother's green and gold-flecked eyes were knowing as she took in Maren's expression.

"Mom…I've seen that man. In my dreams."

That was the day she learned everything her mother knew about the Void.

Maren stands on the beach watching the faux ocean spill over into oblivion for what seems like forever. Why was she even here? Her mother told her countless stories about the Void, how it is ever changing, ever vast, but this…this was so much more than she thought it would be.

She turns around on her heel, bent on going back to her apartment - maybe this is just a dream-gone-wrong - but when she does her apartment door is gone. In its place is a path flanked by sparse plants – a replica of the path that she used to take home every day with new seashells in hand.

"Eh...why not?" she murmurs to herself and embarks.

The road rolls on for a while, taking her through shrubbery, small patches of trees, and more stretches of sand. Her heart still knows the way, even when the ground breaks up in places, leaving holes leading to oblivion.

She lets her feet carry her up the old stairway leading up the hill to the house, which has been reduced to nothing but a bridge suspended over thin air, and tries not to think about how it would feel to accidentally fall into the great beyond from there. Somehow she's able to manage across the narrow space and finds herself standing in front of the old doorway. The shining silver seashell door knocker gleams at her, begging her to touch it. So she does – because she can remember so many years where she couldn't reach it even on her tip-toes.

_Knock. Knock._

"Even sounds the same," she muses. How strange for everything to be so familiar and feel so safe even though a thin layer of stone is the only thing separating her from a horrid eternal drop.

_"Maren. Come."_

That voice again.

She pushes the door open, already knowing her destination. The glow of whale oil lamps greets her, the rune her mother left there long ago is still hissing something beautiful, and – suddenly her right hand is clutching a handful of seashells. These aren't like the one's she used to bring: blues, reds, purples and oranges; the brightest colors she could find. No, these are black, glossy, and feel more like blown glass than shell.

There's an empty space on the altar waiting for them.

"These are for you…I think." The shells make a pleasant _clink, clink, clink_ noise as she drops them one by one onto the marble surface.

"Maren," the black eyes greet her, more startling than anything her mother could ever have painted. "We finally meet. Face to face. I am the Outsider, but you already know that. Your mother was a lovely woman."

Maren blurts the first thing that comes to her: "Then why didn't you help her?"

He shakes his head, not even batting an eye. "Dear, you know that's not how I do things. I only give and watch. There was nothing I could do for your mother, as interested in her as I was. However, I brought you here because of _you_. Someone from your past is about to come for you, and I'd like to give you a gift before you embark on your journey."

Oh, it _burns_. Maren barely bites back a cry as the mark spreads hot like lava over her left hand.

"You know my mark well, and now it belongs to you." He gestures to the rune in front of her. "Your mother was a very smart woman. She left this for you, almost if she knew you would need it one day. Take it, and seek others out – you know why."

"And shrines to you as well…" Maren murmurs, recalling her mother's words.

"Yes." The Outsider remains pensive for a moment, running his pale fingers along the glossy surface of the seashells. "You remembered, even after all these years. Why am I not surprised?" He closes his hand around them then, the many rings on his fingers clicking against them. Maybe she's imagining it, but Maren swears there's a small smirk on his lips. "They'll be a wonderful addition to all the others you've left me."

Maren suddenly finds herself filled with a million questions she wants to ask, but with those questions comes a tiredness that she can't shake. She opens her mouth to speak, only to find every ounce of energy pulled from her.

The Outsider's cryptic gaze is the last thing she sees.

Morning comes, bringing sheets of glorious light into Maren's tiny apartment. It starts by creeping over the faded wooden floor close to the window, then shimmies up her bed, rolling playfully over the folds of her blanket until it reaches the curve of her pale cheek. The warmth wakes her, a pleasant change from the previous evening's frigidness.

She lifts her hand to rub the sleep from her eyes but her breath catches before she can complete the action. The Outsider's mark stares at her, black and intricate as the one her mother wore.

So it wasn't a dream.

"Great…" A long sigh escapes from Maren's lips. She doesn't like this at all. All she ever wanted since her mother's death was a quiet life, and she thought she had found it in Alba.

By the shore. Where she could sell her artwork and remain remotely anonymous.

The knock on her front door shatters this dream forever.


	2. Chapter 2: A Visit from Someone Lost

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the original Dishonored characters or locations. I do own Maren and her family members though, so they are required to do my evil bidding .

"Maren?"

She hastily throws on pants, a loose long-sleeved top and fingerless gloves to conceal the Outsider's mark. Once completely covered, she opens the door to find a tall, lean man in official uniform standing at her doorstep. He would have been imposing to anyone else, but Maren recognizes him immediately, though she can hardly believe it.

"Luke?" Her breath hitches. "By the Outsider, is it really you?" She's embracing her brother before he can even reply 'yes.' "How did you find me?!"

"Let me come inside and I'll tell you everything, I swear." His brown eyes sparkle down at her, warm and reassuring.

"Of course!" Luke nearly trips over the threshold as she pulls him inside. "It's not very big, but it's comfy. I'll go make some tea for you, if you'd like."

The apartment is small with relatively bare pale walls, but the generous amount of sunlight filling it makes it warm and comfortable. Just like their house back when they were kids. It makes Luke smile - something he doesn't do much anymore, and he probably won't for a long time once he's done with his business here. But for now he's content to watch his younger sister run around in a blur, much in the way their mother used to: chatting happily and care-free while collecting cups, heating water, scrambling for something sweet and then plates to put that sweet on.

Maren has tea on the table in no time at all, along with a loaf of sweet and tangy lemon cake. Luke can't help but be impressed by how close the taste is to the one they grew up with. So close to their mother's recipe that it makes his smile droop a little.

"Sister, you haven't asked me _anything_ about where I've been or what I've been doing all these years," he blurts suddenly. "The last time we saw each other Mother was hanging from-"

"Stop! Luke, please…I know." Maron runs her index finger absentmindedly along the chip in the lip of her teacup. "Just tell me why you're here."

Luke curses himself. He spent ten years searching for her, and this was not what he imagined their being reunited would be at all. "I've been with father."

Maren's eyes go wide. "This whole time?"

"He'd become a general in the Fraeport military, and was reason we were separated. I was grabbed when the crowd went crazy at the execution…apparently he had wanted you to be found too, but not for the same reason. I overheard some of the guards talking about how he was searching everywhere for a little girl he wanted 'neutralized.' I _knew _it had to be you." His eyes are fierce, brown irises burning almost red.

The news makes Maren want to cry. "Something in me just said to run, and run, and run until I was as far away as I could go."

Her brother sighs heavily. "Father has become exceedingly corrupt since then but somehow managed to surrounded himself with extremely loyal comrades and colleagues who would never betray him. That is, unless they had undeniable proof of the violent conspiracies he's involved with in the city."

She considers this for a long moment before replying. "I'm not surprised that he's involved in such disgusting things, but I'm failing to see why you needed to seek me out to tell me this. He wants me dead, you just said it yourself."

"I _need_ your help, Maren. I have a plan if you would like to hear it."

She takes a deep breath and holds it, knowing that she doesn't want to. It's then that her hand itches, a reminding from the Outsider of her unavoidable fate.

"Sure," her dark blue eyes finally burn into him, urging him to continue. "Go on."

"Father thinks that he has me under the same spell as the others. If I were to bring you to him as a prisoner, I'm sure he'd _love_ to gloat about all of the horrible things he's done and intends to do in the future. I'm betting the recording we'll make will give me all the information I need to peg him for one or two atrocities, and if not that, it'll certainly be enough to get an investigation going."

Maren watches him, heart aching horribly. Years and years of wishing he was alive somewhere and _this_ is the reason that they're reunited. With her chest heavy, she speaks: "Let me make sure my facts are straight: You came here to ask me to risk my life so that you can bring our scum of a father to justice, so you can save a city of people who wanted nothing more than to see our mother hang?"

"He poisons the peoples' drinking water for _fun_, Maren."

No. How could he think that would be a good enough motivation? The people of that city were the very reason why she now lived in solitude with no family, not happy and educated and in love like the other 20-something's she knew. So, they're suffering? _Good_.

"_They_ cheered and threw things at mother as they put the noose around her neck! I am not risking my life and the tiny bit of happiness I have for people who celebrated mother's death and would do the same for mine. I see NO reason to!"

Luke's become very stiff through all this, lips pressed thin and muscles taught. Maren's seen him like this before – he's down to his last resort. "Father killed mother. He orchestrated the explosion in the square and then signed the forms to have her hanged."

Screaming pain tears through her body. All she can feel in that moment is crushing on her chest, her shoulders, her neck, her head, her stomach – all of her – accompanied by the worst ringing in her ears imaginable.

"Luke, I swear if you're lying-"

"I have the documentation to prove it and I will show it to you if you agree to come with me."

There's no way she could say _no._ She takes a deep breath and looks around the apartment, memorizing the only sanctuary she's ever known so that she will remember that she escaped that terror all those years ago.

She survived. But what does surviving matter anymore? She's been living alone with no close friends, just her acquaintances and the ocean because she fears someone knowing her face… Simply surviving is a terrible thing to do when you can't actually _live_.

By clearing her mother's name and destroying her killer, she _would_ be able to live again. Without fear – Just as her mother would have wanted for her.

"Give me five minutes to clean up."


	3. AUTHOR NOTE!

AUTHOR NOTE: Hi, I felt the need to publish this since I've noticed that people have been following this story. I currently am in the process of re-writing the first two chapters because the style I'm writing in is just not suiting me. It worked very well for short stories like my The Last of Us stories, but it's making me uncomfortable for a story of this length since it is actually not the style I normally work on. I believe too much in the plot I have in mind for this to keep going in this direction.

I am very sorry to disappoint the people who have just shown their support by following and faving this story, as I appreciate it so much. I appreciate it enough though to at least let you know why there won't be updates for quite a while. I'm not dead and the story is not dead, I just have tons of school work and studying for taking the GRE.

Thank you for the support, and I hope to be uploading again really soon!

- Isis


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